Things I'd like to discuss when there's food in my belly

1. Slaughterhouse-five: Good book, not the greatest, but possibly the most over-hyped.

2. Eating Animals: For those who have always been on the fence between omnivorism and vegetarianism, this book will push you into a new stage of indecision where you desperately crave a cheeseburger, but cannot get the image of cows being skinned and slaughtered alive out of your head. (And there are a lot of such images in this book.)

3. Miranda July: The problem with short story collections by a writer with a distinctive voice/style is that it's her only voice/style and the stories fail to stand together as a collection; they blur together as a train of awkward social situations and it really doesn't make a difference which character is which. Also, this is the sign of the times.

Let the sunshine in

Temperatures this week have soared over freezing (a whopping 40 something degrees) and the trickling sound of thawing snow indicates a light at the end of this dark, cold tunnel we all know and hate as winter.

I've been re-balancing myself. This includes: reading more, writing (or thinking about writing) more, and trying to glow. I've just about finished Slaughterhouse-Five (how did I not read that sooner?), and I've been working on a collection of prose that more or less uses geological phenomena as a metaphor for a relationship between the speaker and "you". Not sure where it's going yet, but it's different and I like that. You can read some of it here.

I've also been working on a collection of prose about PTSD, but that's proving to be a difficult thing to put into words, at least words that aren't so heavy-handed. This project is just a tad more personal than the geology one.


What else?

White it out white it out white it out

Nothing like a blizzard to lift your spirits and make you feel better about being surrounded by dead things. It's an old fashioned and unreliable sort of drawing board, but once a sufficient amount has fallen it serves as the great equalizer. When it melts you'll see mud and remember the things that were buried, but for the time being there are no worries in your heart or your head.

I know, I know.

All my favorite pens are dying. It's like losing friends. So sad.

Mid-twenties Crisis: Yes, it really does happen.

And it entails the following:

-Glaring at 17 year old girls whose clothes are hipper, whose hair is styled, who don't have jobs and don't give a shit how much shit costs, and who don't have hips yet to make all their pants not fit. They make you insecure because in ten years they'll steal your husband, but you calm down by telling yourself that, at least for the time being, you can drink more and fuck better.

-You go through your entire wardrobe and pack up all your "skinny" clothes that no longer fit and tell yourself that some day they'll fit again, but knowing for damn sure they won't.

-You identify with the frumpy wife in Love, Actually. It makes you cringe because you're frumpy and you're not even a wife yet, so you begin going to great lengths to tone your flabby parts and update your wardrobe. You make secret vows to stay hot, buy lingerie and double-up on the blow-jobs. Especially the surprise ones.

-Floating in a weird limbo where you begin planning on getting married, finding a house or groovy apartment to settle in, and having kids some day. You begin not blowing all your money on concerts, crap from Hot Topic, and sneakers because you anticipate these future things happening and costing fortunes.

-You begin talking about your life as if you already have a husband, kids, or a house; what's worse is you talk about having to protect these things from slutty 17-year-old girls.

-You start drinking "mature", upper-shelf liquors like Johnnie Walker, Jameson, Seagrams, and Patron, but you're still young enough to feel fancy drinking wine from a box. The thought of Smirnoff Ice, Mike's Hard anything, Twisted Tea, Absolut flavored vodka (or vodka at all) upsets your stomach.

-Out to dinner, you order Manhattans and Sangria.

-You begin obsessing over how much weight you've gained since you were 19, and wonder if you're exes have noticed.

-Picking out dish sets, sheets, and throw pillows gives you jollies. To compensate, you buy expensive make-up and new shoes that you never wear because they're too fancy for anything you own, and you don't own anything nice because you never go anywhere nice, and you never go anywhere nice because you have nothing to wear. You reason this is why you're single and compensate appropriately by buying expensive make-up and shoes you never wear. And maybe a nice bra.

-

Note to self:

You should probably write new poetry. Giddy up.